


Blindspot

by randomsquare



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Pining, roommates au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 15:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13884165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomsquare/pseuds/randomsquare
Summary: A short CS AU three-parter based on a prompt from @shady-swan-jones. A mutual pining, roommates kind of prompt. And who am I to deny? Contains lashings of Captain Book, but we'll get there.





	1. Chapter 1

There was a girl in Emma Swan's kitchen.

No, scratch that: there was a very polite Australian girl in Emma Swan's kitchen. Holding out a plate of pancakes and looking eerily at home standing there by the stove, even though she seemed to be wearing nothing more than an oversized T-shirt.

Oversized.

She must have been one of Killian's.

Emma accepted the plate with a mumbled thanks, and went over and sat at the counter where she could keep the girl in her line of sight. The girl who was now humming under her breath as she stirred up some more pancake batter, not a care in the world.

Sure, she could've been one of Ruby's. But she was on a cleanse this month, or so she said. More like she was still licking her wounds over what had gone down with Dorothy during the World's Most Awkward Non-Refundable Holiday. But still.

That just left the other roommate. The scruffier one.

_Jesus._

Emma had always figured Killian knew how to show his one night stands a good time (for better or worse they did share an adjoining wall, after all), but this was something else. This wasn't an awkward hello in the hallway on the way to the bathroom with some faceless redhead.

This girl looked about ready to move in.

Before Emma could think back to any of her tried and true methods for removing unwanted squatters, the roommate in question appeared, freshly showered and still apparently allergic to fastening buttons above his navel.

But Killian didn't catch her eye. And he didn't look the least bit perturbed to see last night's conquest standing in their kitchen, cooking up a storm. On the contrary, he stopped beside her and took away her skillet, apparently eager to pick back up where they left off.

That is, until Emma pointedly cleared her throat.

He had the good grace to look guilty. As well he should. After what they'd come to call The Yoga Instructor Incident, there'd been a strict moratorium on amorous encounters in shared spaces. No one was ready to throw away another couch so soon.

"Swan!" he exclaimed, his voice a little too pitchy to completely hide his embarrassment. "I see you've met Belle."

_Belle._

So not a hello-in-the-hallway girl at all, but a legitimate prospect. With a name.

"It's lovely to meet you, Emma," the girl said, still hanging on Killian's arm.

And lovely manners.

"Pleasure," Emma replied, stuffing another forkful of pancake into her mouth to prevent further conversation.

They were really good pancakes too. Fluffy, with just the right amount of syrup.

 _Fuck._  How was she supposed to hate this girl now?


	2. Chapter 2

"So… Belle seems nice?"

It was Friday night, and the first time she'd been alone in the apartment with him for what felt like months. She'd already faked a migraine when Ruby had tried to drag her out to the clubs, but if she'd known that meant spending the evening as the guinea pig for Killian's ill-advised culinary adventures, she might've acted differently.

Not that she didn't like Killian, or anything. In fact, that was kind of the problem.

"What?" he asked absently, looking up from the saucepan of simmering bolognese sauce. "Oh, Belle. Aye, she's a lovely lass."

Okay, so not exactly the gushing of a man in the throes of the honeymoon stage, but Killian had always played things close to the vest. He seemed immune from her scrutiny, however, as he reached across for more oregano. Emma resisted the urge to bat the container from his hands. He was going to screw up the sauce. Again.

"And you're not with her right now because…?"

He put the wooden spoon down, and turned around to face her properly. His growing irritation was plain to see, but it didn't quite manage to lessen the familiar punch in the gut that was having Killian Jones's full attention trained on her.

You'd think after three years of sharing the same bathroom with the guy, Emma's hormones would have gotten the hint. Called it a day. Taken a fucking memo. Only, not so much. Even now, after a few weeks of coming home and walking in on him playing out scarily domestic scenes with his pretty, antipodean girlfriend, she could still feel a hot flush coming on after just a few seconds of direct scrutiny.

"What is with this inquisition?," he asked, folding his arms over his chest. "We haven't hung out in forever, and this is what you want to discuss, my love life?"

"No," Emma said quickly, averting her eyes back to the bolognese. The sauce was less distracting than he was, in all his scruffy, blue-eyed glory. "Not if you don't want to. It's just, you guys seem to be getting pretty serious. So I thought-"

"How's Walsh?"

The topic change almost gave her whiplash, it was so sudden. And momentarily made her forget she was trying not to look at him.

"Wa- You mean Furniture Store Guy?" She shrugged. "I don't know? He's old news."

"You never said anything." His tone was almost accusing, as if she needed to keep Killian Jones apprised of any and all changes to her relationship status. Hell, wasn't that what Facebook was for?

"Not much to tell," she said breezily, moving around him to pick up the wooden spoon. Killian might have been happy to let it burn, but Emma had plans for that sauce. She was hungry. And she did not plan on being on first name terms with her neighborhood pizza delivery guy just yet. "He was just another pathetic liar, and my taste in men continues to reach lows."

"He lied to you?" His hand was on hers now. The same one she was trying to use to save his bolognese from dying a cruel death. She glared up at him, her irritation helpfully masking the very electric awareness she was feeling with him all up in her space.

"Do you want this to burn?" she snapped, batting his hand away. But Killian was stubborn, like her, and she knew he wasn't going to just forget about it and move onto a less traumatic topic.

She chanced a glance back in his direction. Nope. He looked kind of stern now. Like a disappointed school principal. Emma turned back to her bolognese, wondering exactly when she started to think of stern school principals as hot.

"Okay, fine," she said, careful not to turn away from the stove. "Yes, he lied to me. You know how he always had to go away on 'buying trips' every weekend, to find pieces for his store?"

She still didn't look over at him, but she could feel him nodding at the corner of her peripheral vision.

"Well, it turns out that was horseshit. He wasn't buying antiques in New Hampshire. He was actually going home to his family, in Connecticut. Turns out he's married. Two daughters. Golden Retriever, the works. And I was just his piece of the side."

The crash made her jump, and Emma was pretty sure she managed to trail bolognese sauce everywhere when she turned around, eyes scanning for the source of the ruckus.

Her gaze landed on the broken pottery, Dorothy's apology peonies from this morning lying forlorn on the linoleum in a puddle of water.

Her eyes flitted from the smashed vase, back to Killian, who was leaning on the kitchen table with both hands, a very noticeable flush erupting across his cheeks and ears, breathing heavy.

"Uhh, you okay?" Emma asked, uncertain.

He didn't answer her, not at first, just kept staring a hole into the table, as though it had personally offended him.

 _Screw that_. He reacted when the spoon whacked against his arm, that was for sure, even if it meant him twisting around to glare at her.

"What?" she scoffed, pasting on a look of pure innocence. "You're the one who's gonna have to explain that to Ruby," she said, indicating the mess. "She might pretend she doesn't like getting them, but you know she does."

Killian mumbled something under his breath, and Emma leaned forward to catch his words. "Huh?"

"I said, 'you're not _just_  anything, Swan," he repeated much louder, his words practically vibrating off the tiles above the sink. "And he's a bloody dickhead for thinking so."

She could see his fists at his sides now, his knuckles turning white. Wow, he was practically apoplectic over this.

"Hey, calm down, Toxic Avenger," she said, tossing the spoon back in what she hoped was the direction of the sink, before laying a soothing hand to bicep. A very nice bicep. "There's no need to go all vigilante justice on his ass. He's just a garden variety creep."

He looked momentarily puzzled at the reference, and Emma smiled. "Great movie." He shot her a doubtful look, and she smiled wider. "What, you don't get schlocky revenge thrillers from the 80s across the pond?"

"It's not really my milieu." Trust Killian to bust out that bad boy. _Milieu._  Honestly? Who did he think he was? And why did Emma have to develop an inconvenient crush on a guy who sounded like he'd swallowed the SAT Prep book?

"Yeah, okay," she said, reluctantly removing her hand from his arm. "Well anyway, I think that's enough in the way of healthy masculine displays of emotion and property damage for one night. So you're cleaning that up," she said, pointing out the drowned peonies. "And I'm going to save dinner. Deal?"

He glanced down at her with a frown, as if only just realising how dramatic he'd come across. Any minute now he would start scratching behind his ear. "Apologies, Swan. I'll sort it."

He made a move towards the hallway, to the cupboard where they kept the cleaning stuff.

"You'd better," Emma called after him, turning back to the, now smoking, bolognese. "Oh, and Jones?"

His face appeared again in the doorway. "Aye?"

"If you tell Ruby it was an accident, I won't throw you under the bus, okay?"

His answering smile was relieved. Happy. Beautiful. "Okay."


	3. Chapter 3

"Don't you think you should, I don't know, talk to her? Clear the air?"

This wasn't the first time Emma had suggested this. Not by a long shot. But their kitchen was now about 90% peony, and something had to give. Preferably the peonies.

Ruby grimaced. "Emma, I love you, but if we couldn't bring ourselves to talk on a nine-hour non-refundable train ride through the alps, do you really think we're going to start now?"

She had a point. But Emma could think of at least twenty newly delivered reasons why it might be worth giving it a shot.

Whatever had happened before The World's Most Awkward Non-Refundable Holiday, clearly someone was eager to make amends. Unless of course Dorothy was under the mistaken impression Ruby suffered from hayfever, and was attempting slow torture, one arrangement at a time. Somehow Emma doubted it.

"You sure you don't want to try, like, actual healthy adult communication? It seems to be working for Killian and Belle."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Emma asked.

"Get that pinched look whenever you say her name. With this crease right between your eyebrows. Right here."

Emma slapped her hand away.

"You don't like her, do you?" Ruby said, as though this somehow confirmed a long-held suspicion of hers.

"What?" Emma blustered. "Of course I like her. What's not to like? She's sweet and nice and god, her pancakes. It's just…"

"She's sleeping with the guy you're carrying a torch for?" Ruby finished, all innocence.

Nail. Head.

But it wasn't like she was going to tell Ruby that. Ruby, who regularly came home tanked. Ruby, who had always been a very honest drunk. Ruby, who liked to sit up with Killian at all hours on the weekends, playing cards and gambling away household chores.

It was not a good combination.

"A torch? Me? Hey, no one's carrying any torch here!"

"Oh, c'mon!" Ruby snorted. "You've had a raging Maglite for the guy as long as I've known you. And look, I get it, okay? He's got that whole tall, dark and broody thing going on, and it's working for him. And we've  _all_  caught him leaving the bathroom in that towel that's just a  _little_  too small on him. But if you didn't like seeing him with his girlfriend, don't you think maybe you should have, I don't know, told him how you felt? You had three whole years do to it in!"

Not. Helping.

But Ruby was on a roll now. "No, instead you chose to go out with that jerk from the furniture store. The one I thought looked kind of like a monkey. And that writer guy..."

"August," Emma supplied.

"Right," Ruby continued. "You keep going out with all these deadbeats you don't even really care about. Because when it ends,  _and with those guys it's definitely just a matter of when,_  you get to just brush yourself off and go,  _'oh well, I tried,'_  and you never actually have to risk getting your heart broken again."

Any way you sliced it, Ruby was ruined as a waitress. With those kind of insights, she should've been sitting in a fancy office, charging $250 an hour to see into people's heads.

But no, Emma wasn't going to tell her that. Not when Ruby was so right. Not when denial, her old friend, was so readily available as an easy out.

"I  _liked_  August!" Emma protested.

"Uh huh. So when he sold that script and moved to California, approximately how long did you spend considering going with him?"

Of course she hadn't considered it. Los Angeles, was, well... Los Angeles. And her life was in Boston. Her job. Her friends. Killian-

_Shit._

Ruby had her dead to rights, and she knew it. And that self-satisfied smile wasn't helping.

"You know what I did after my first date with Dorothy?" Ruby said suddenly, interrupting Emma's shame spiral.

"Text me all of the gory, gory details?" Emma supplied, remembering just how gory.

Ruby waved her hand dismissively. "I mean after that. You know what I did?"

"What?"

"I went on Pinterest and started looking at wedding themes."

Emma opened her mouth, but nothing came out.  _That is, that was…_

"So unlike me, right?" Ruby said, rolling her eyes. "But I just  _knew_ , you know? She was it. Still is it." She made a face. "I should call her, huh?"

"Uh, yeah," Emma said, stretching her hands wide to take in the peonies that now occupied every available surface of their apartment.

" _Fine,_ " Ruby relented. "I'll call her. But you have to tell Killian how you feel."

"Rubes! That's not anywhere near the same thing. For one thing,  _we live together_. And let's not forget  _he has a girlfriend_."

"Actually," came a deeper voice from the doorway, "He doesn't."

 _Please don't be, please don't be…_  It was Killian. Leaning oh-so-casually against the door jamb, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans.

_Did he have to look like he'd just stumbled out of an ad for Levis right now?_

Ruby had never exactly been one for subtlety. Between the hair and the cleavage and the  _everything_ , you somehow knew not to expect it. But when she made a big show of getting up and leaving the two of them there, alone, Emma still kinda wished she could have one friend who could be chill for like, two seconds.

The one saving grace was that when Ruby slipped into the hallway, she already had her phone in her hand. If Emma had to meet her humiliating end,  _and that was a dead certainty,_  at least it would be in service of making their apartment peony-free.

Only once Ruby's footsteps had died away did Killian finally heave himself up into a standing position, his attention still keenly fixated on her.

There was only one thing for it, Emma had to go on the offense.

"So I hope you're not going to miss living in a greenhouse, because I give it three hours and Ruby and Dorothy are back on. Goodbye apology flowers, hello having to announce yourself before you walk into rooms, because you know what they're-"

"Swan-"

"Which I guess is better than the flowers. In some ways. I mean, it's gross, obviously. But at least I'll be able to get to the coffee maker without-"

" _Swan._ "

He'd taken Ruby's empty chair now, and Emma felt herself bite her lip, to stop even more of the babble from spilling out.

"How much did you hear?" Emma asked, her voice a lot more shaky than she'd like.

"Raging Maglite?" he repeated. His amused tone was reassuring enough, but his words? Not so much.

_Shit._

"You and Belle broke up?"

"Aye," he said, one hand reaching up to scratch behind one ear. "A few weeks ago now. You might've noticed, but you've been hard to pin down lately. Extra hours and what not."

An intentional choice, on her part. Sure, she needed the money. But there was also only so much domestic bliss one person could accidentally walk in on. Taking a few extra diner shifts seemed like the more responsible choice than dragging her sorry ass to the nearest bar and drowning her sorrows, night after night.

"You okay?"

It wasn't what Emma really wanted to know. Sure, she cared about the guy. About his well-being. That's what had started this whole mess, after all. But the larger part of her was just dying to know  _why?_  Had he broken it off? Had  _she?_  Did Belle think scruffy, intelligent, piercing-eyed Brits just grew on trees?

"Aye. Just not meant to be."

The smart thing would have been to leave it alone. Change the subject right quick, and then get all the details off Ruby later. Emma Swan was not all the smart.

"So it was a mutual decision, then?"

At this, Killian made a noise. A  _not exactly_  kind of noise. "It was mutual in that she pointed out, quite rightly, that she could do a lot better than a guy who's completely hung up on his flatmate. And I agreed."

If there was any oxygen left in that room, it sure didn't feel like it. Emma felt dizzy. Lightheaded. He didn't- He couldn't-

"You're hung up on Ruby?" she managed, her jokey tone taking a brittle turn half way through.

"Don't you know, Emma?" he said, reaching across to take her hand in his.

It was everything she'd ever wanted, and also everything she was deathly afraid of, all in one innocuous gesture. She wanted to throw up. Or cry. Mostly cry. She settled for keeping her hand steady, even as he drew it up to his mouth. Even as he pressed his lips to the skin above her knuckles. Even as every cell in her body turned to liquid.

"Me?"

He was still holding her hand when he smiled again, his thumb rubbing small circles into her palm. "Aye, love. It's always been you."

"Always?"

"Well, at least since the first time I accidentally drank one of your fancy beers, and you nearly took my head off. Or the time you forgot your towel coming out of the bathroom. That was also a particular highlight."

Stupidly in love with him or not, he still got a whack on the arm for that. And it was just that little shot of normality that gave Emma the courage to form her next words.

"You're not kidding about this? I mean, you're serious. About us?"

"Deathly serious. And I know,  _I know_  I should have said something sooner, but you always had some perfectly average bloke hanging around, and I figured you weren't interested. And when I met Belle at the library I thought you were still with that Walsh fellow and-

He didn't get further than that. Not with Emma's hands rough on his collar, dragging her towards him. It was bad enough she'd practically climbed up onto the table to eliminate any remaining space between them, but he didn't seem to mind, not when she ducked her head and kissed him for all she was worth.

Three years was a long time to think about kissing someone. Emma had plenty of ideas up her sleeve.

When they did eventually break apart, breaths ragged and Ruby's excitable squeals kind of ruining the mood, she stayed close, her forehead pressed to his.

"You're not gonna hurt me, right, Jones?"

"Are you kidding, Swan? Ruby would kill me if I did."

The both looked across to where Ruby stood by the stove, her FaceTime conversation with Dorothy still in progress, a smug smile pasted across her face. "Yep. What he said."


End file.
